A shadow had fallen on the brightness of Marietta's morning. She was
paler, too, but she said nothing.

"Of course he was tired," continued Nella. "Did you suppose that he
would come back with pink cheeks and bright eyes, like a baby from
baptism, after being out half the night?"

"He is always pale," said Marietta.

"Because he goes to Venice every night," retorted Nella viciously. "That
is the good reason! Oh, I am sure of it! And besides, I shall watch him,
now that I know. I shall see him whenever he takes the boat."

"It is none of your business where he goes," answered Marietta. "It does
not concern any one but himself."

"Oh, indeed!" sneered Nella. "Then the honour of the house does not
matter! It is no concern of ours! And your father need never know that
his trusty servant, his clever assistant, his faithful confidant, who
shares all his secrets, is a good-for-nothing fellow who spends his
nights in gambling, or drinking, or perhaps in making love to some
Venetian girl as honourable and well behaved as himself!"

Marietta had grown steadily more angry while Nella was talking. She had
her father's temper, though she could control it better than he.

"I will find out whether this story is true," she said coldly. "If it is
not, it will be the worse for you. You shall not serve me any longer,
unless you can be more careful in what you say."